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Howdy, friendly reading person!I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now, but only to work on other projects -- one incredibly exciting example being the newly-released kids' science book series Things That Make You Go Yuck!If you're a science and/or silliness fan, give it a gander! See you soon!

I don’t have a lot of requirements for my fast food. It’s not often that I frequent the quickie joints, so I don’t bother being overly demanding when I do. If it shows up quickly and fits in my mouth, that’s usually plenty good enough for me. If my standards were any lower, I’d just eat the change when they hand it back and be done with it.

But even I have my limits. And one of those was sorely tested at lunch today.

See, I have this theory. It’s more of a governing rule, really, and that rule is this:

‘The packaging of a food or food-like object should never be the only force holding the stupid thing together.‘

“If it shows up quickly and fits in my mouth, that’s usually plenty good enough for me.”

Maybe I’m being unreasonable. But that’s just how I feel. And so does the bottom half of the grande burrito I bought for lunch today. And so does my desk. And my keyboard. And the new shirt I was wearing today. We took a little vote around twelve-thirty, and they were all on my side.

The top half of the burrito abstained. But considering that it had just toppled over and slathered itself all over that desk and keyboard and shirt the moment I peeled back the aluminum foil, I’m guessing it had a different opinion.

So, apparently, did Senor Chucklenuts at the taco hut where I bought it. Why neatly seal up a burrito with its own tortilla, he must have asked himself, when you can cram the ingredients together all higgledy-piggledy and cover it with foil and be done with it? Maybe the guy can send out those grease-powered time bombs and live with himself. But I don’t see how.

And now I need another shirt. Also, my desk smells like guacamole. Plus, I think there’s a bean lodged under my space bar. I think I’ll find a screwdriver and pry it off the keyboard.

And shove it up a chihuahua’s ass. Just on principle. Next time, I’m buying a damned Whopper.